Elk 04 White Face (10 page)

She clutched at his sleeve frantically.

“What can happen to you, Louis? You didn’t kill him—the knife!”

He disengaged her hand almost roughly.

“I don’t know whether I killed him. Now listen,” he said. “You’ve got to be terribly sensible about this. Even if this blackguard told everything, they can’t hurt you. But I don’t want you to suffer the ignominy of an inquiry—the police court and that filth.”

Her senses were unnaturally keen. She heard a sound.

“There’s somebody coming up the stairs,” she whispered. “Go into the bedroom—go quickly!”

He hesitated, but she pushed him towards the room and ran rather than walked to the door and listened. She could hear soft, whispering voices. Switching on the table lamp, she found a book and opened it with trembling hands. There was a little sewing table in the spare room and she brought this out and had placed it near when the first thunderous knock sounded. She took one glimpse at herself in the hall mirror, used her pocket puff swiftly and opened the door.

Two men were standing there: two tall, grim-looking figures of fate.

“Who is it?” she asked.

It was an agonised effort to control her voice, but she succeeded.

“My name is Bray—Detective-Inspector Bray, Criminal Investigation Department,” he said formally. “This is Detective-Sergeant Elk.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Landor.”

It was characteristic of Elk that he took complete charge of the proceedings from that moment. He had the affability of a man supremely confident of himself. “Come in,” she said.

“All right, Mrs. Landor, I’ll shut the door,” said Elk. They walked into the hall. She noticed that neither of the men removed his hat.

She made one effort to appear unconcerned, tried to infuse a little gaiety into her voice.

“I should have known you were detectives. I’ve seen so many in cinemas and I know detectives never take their hats off,” she smiled.

Mr. Bray would have taken this as a reproach. Elk was apparently amused, but supplied an explanation.

“A detective who takes his hat off, Mrs. Landor,” he said, “is a detective with one hand! In other words, the other hand is occupied when he may want to use two.”

“I hope you won’t even want to use one,” she said. “Will you sit down? Is it about Joan?”

It was cruelly unfair to make this implied libel on an honest and decent servant, but she could not afford to be nice.

“Don’t make a noise, will you?” she added. “My husband is asleep.”

“He got asleep very quickly, Mrs. Landor,” said Bray. “He only came in a few minutes ago.”

She forced a smile.

“A few minutes ago! How absurd! He’s been in bed since ten.”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Landor, did another man come into this flat?”

She shook her head.

“Do you ever have burglars coming up the fire escape?” he asked, eyeing her quickly. She laughed at this.

“I don’t even know which way burglars come, but I never use the fire escape myself! I hope I never shall!”

Elk paid tribute to the sally with a smile.

“We’d like to see your husband,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “Which is his room? Is that it?” He pointed to a door near the hall.

She had seated herself at the table where the open book was lying, her hands folded on her lap that they might not testify to her agitation. She rose now.

“No—that is the maid’s room. My room is here, but I can’t have him disturbed. He’s not very well,” she said. “He’s had a fall.”

“Too bad,” said Elk. “Which is his room?”

She did not answer but walked across to the bedroom door and knocked.

“Louis, there are some people who want to see you.”

He came in immediately. He was without coat and collar, but it needed no experienced observer to realise that he had been interrupted rather in the process of taking off his clothes than of dressing.

“Were you getting up, darling?” she asked quickly.

Elk shook his head reprovingly.

“I’d rather you didn’t suggest anything to him, Mrs. Landor. You may suggest the wrong things. That is a friendly tip.”

Louis looked from one to the other. He had heard Inez say “detectives” under her breath, but he did not need that explanation. Inspector Bray made one effort to control the inquiry.

“I’ve reason to believe that you know a man who was staying at the Little Norfolk Hotel in Norfolk Street, Strand, and calling himself Donald Bateman.”

“No,” said Inez quickly.

“I’m asking your husband,” said Bray sharply. “Well, Mr. Landor?”

Louis shrugged.

“I have no personal acquaintance with anybody named Donald Bateman.”

It was here that Elk resumed charge of the examination and his superior assented.

“We don’t want to know whether you’re personally acquainted with him, Mr. Landor. That’s entirely beside the question. Have you ever heard of, or have you in any way been associated with, a man called Donald Bateman, who arrived from South Africa in the last few weeks? Before you answer, I wish to tell you that Inspector Bray and I are investigating the circumstances under which this man met his death in Endley Street, Tidal Basin, at ten o’clock last night.”

“He’s dead?” said Louis. “How did he die?”

“By a knife wound,” said Bray.

He saw the woman sway on her feet.

“I know nothing about it,” said Louis Landor. “I have never used a knife against any man.”

Elk’s eyes were roving the curios on the wall. He took a step closer, and lifting the belt from the nail, laid it on the table.

“What is this supposed to be?” He tapped the knife.

“It’s a knife I brought back from South America,” said Louis immediately. “I had a ranch there.”

“Is it yours?”

Louis nodded.

“There were two in this belt,” he said. “Where is the other?”

“We lost it.” Inez spoke quickly. “Louis lost it. We haven’t had it for quite a long time—we’ve never had it in this house.”

Elk ran his finger along the belt.

“There’s dust here. There ought to be dust inside this empty frog,” he said. “If the story is true and there has been no knife here for a long time, the inside would be thick with dust. On the other hand, if your story isn’t true, there was a knife here to-day—”

He rubbed the inside of the leather and showed his finger practically speckless.

“I dusted it myself this morning,” said Inez, and Elk smiled at her admiringly.

“Mrs. Landor!” he said in reproach.

“Well, I’ve got to tell the truth,” she said desperately. “You want the truth, don’t you?”

She was on the verge of hysteria, near to the breaking-point which would leave her morally and physically shattered.

“You’re not entitled to draw inferences without my offering some explanation. God Almighty! Haven’t I suffered enough through that man!”

“Which man?” asked Bray sharply.

She was silent.

“Which man, Mrs. Landor?”

Louis Landor at any rate had recovered his self-possession.

“My wife isn’t quite herself to-night,” he said. “I have been out rather late and she got rather worried about me.”

“Now what’s the use of making a mystery of something that’s perfectly clear?” asked Elk.

He was almost sad as he contemplated the futility of unnecessary evasion.

“Your wife knew Donald Bateman?”

Louis did not answer.

“I’m going to be perfectly frank with you. I told you we were inquiring into the murder of this man. That is our duty as police officers. We’re not asking you or your wife or anybody else who is the murderer of Donald Bateman. Understand that right, Mr. Landor. The only person we want is the murderer of this man! The people we don’t want are those who didn’t murder him, even though they know something of him. If either or both of you are responsible, y, my chief and the whole damned crowd of us at Scotland Yard will work night and day to bring you to the Old Bailey! That’s treating you square. If you’re not guilty, we’ll do all we can to clear you. The only thing you can give us for the moment is the truth.”

“We’ve told the truth,” said Inez breathlessly.

“No, you haven’t.” Elk shook his head. “I didn’t quite expect you would. The truth in every case like this is hidden under a heap of rubbishy lies. What are you hiding up, Mrs. Landor? It all comes down to that. You’re hiding something and your husband’s hiding something, that maybe doesn’t matter ten loud hoots.”

“I’m hiding nothing,” she said. “You knew Donald Bateman?”

“I don’t remember him,” she said quickly.

“You knew Donald Bateman.” Elk was infinitely patient, and when she shook her head he put his hand slowly into his inside pocket. “Well, I don’t want to give you an unpleasant experience, Mrs. Landor, but I’ve a photograph of this man—a flashlight picture taken after his death.”

She reeled back, her hands out-thrust. “I won’t look at it! I won’t! It’s beastly…you’re not allowed to show me things like that…I won’t see it!”

Louis’s arm was round her, his cheek was against hers. He said something to her in an undertone, something which momentarily calmed her. Then he stretched out his hand to the detective.

“Perhaps I could identify this man,” he said. “I know most of my wife’s friends.”

Elk took from his pocket an envelope, and from this drew a positive that was still damp. It was not a pretty picture, but the hand which held the photograph did not tremble.

“Yes, my wife knew this man ten years ago, when she was a girl of seventeen,” said Louis.

“When did you last see him?” asked Bray.

Louis Landor thought.

“A few years ago.”

“He only arrived in England last week,” said Bray coldly.

“He may have come to England every year, for all you know,” said Louis with a faint smile. “No, I saw his photograph.”

“What did he call himself in those days, Mrs. Landor?”

She was more composed now, her voice under control.

“I knew him as Donald. He was just—an acquaintance.”

She heard Elk’s murmured expostulation.

“Surely, Mrs. Landor, you’re not telling us the gospel truth, are you?” he asked. “Just now you told us you’d ‘suffered enough from this man.’ You can’t suffer very deeply through any man whose name you couldn’t remember except as Donald.”

She did not answer.

“Can you, Mrs. Landor? You’re not going to tell us? He was a very close friend, wasn’t he?”

She drew a long breath.

“I suppose he was. It’s not a thing I want to talk about—”

“Inez! I’m not going to allow these people to think—”

Elk interrupted him.

“Never mind what we think, Mr. Landor. Nothing’s going to shock us—not me, at any rate. You knew this man before you met your husband, I suppose, or was it after?”

“It was before,” she replied.

“Was he anything—to you?”

Elk found difficulty in putting the matter delicately. He saw the man’s face go red and white.

“You’re being damned offensive, aren’t you?” Louis was glowering at him.

Elk shook his head wearily.

“That’s just what I’m not being. A man has been murdered to-night, Landor—and I’m anxious to put the murderer under lock and key, and it’s only possible to put him under lock and key by asking all sorts of innocent people offensive questions. And when you come to think of it, there’s nothing quite so offensive as stabbing a man to the heart and leaving him stiff on the paving-stones of Tidal Basin. It’s a lousy place to die. Personally, I should be very much offended if it happened to me, and I’d regard any questions similar to those I am asking as being in the nature of a bouquet—in comparison. Did you know Donald Bateman was in town?” He addressed Inez.

“No,” she answered.

Bray interjected impatiently.

“Do you mean to tell us you didn’t know that he was in London three or four days ago?”

“No!” Her tone was defiant.

“Mrs. Landor,” said Elk, “you’ve been very unhappy this last day or two; your servant told us all about it. Servants will talk, and they love a little domestic tragedy.”

“I’ve not been well,” she said.

“Is it because you’ve seen Donald Bateman, the man from whom you suffered?”

“No,” she replied.

“Nor you?” asked Bray.

“No,” answered Louis.

“To-night, for instance?” suggested Elk. “You haven’t seen Donald Bateman or the man so described?”

“No,” said Louis.

“Have you been in the neighbourhood of Tidal Basin to-night?” asked Elk. “Before you answer that, I must caution you to be very careful how you reply.”

“No.”

Elk took a slip of paper from his pocket,

“I’m going to ask you a question, Landor, which I’d like you to consider before you answer. In the pocket of the man known as Donald Bateman were found two one-hundred-pound notes, indicator number 33 lO 11878 and 331O 11879. They were new notes, recently issued from the Maida Vale Branch of the Midland Bank. Can you tell me anything about these banknotes?”